Tell You Time and Time Again
by Eternal Contradiction
Summary: Jesse and Rachel: how many times can they meet before they put the past behind them? It's a bit difficult when Jesse denies he did anything wrong and Rachel stubbornly refuses to think of him that way until she succeeds without him.
1. Chapter 1

**Tell You Time and Time Again**

_Chapter 1: This slushy is like my heart, Jesse st. James. Cold and in your face._

x.x.x.x.x

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><p>AN: For everyone who screams at the television when Finchel happens - this story is for you. For everyone who hopes Jesse will come around to fix everything, only for his character to be used as a catalyst for evil - this story is for you. For everyone who just wants a fic where _they_ don't work everything out right away, but also don't avoid each other for years - this story is definitely for you. For those of you looking for entertainment, well, that's what I do.

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><p><em>x.x.x.x.x<em>

One would think with the constant barrage of slushies carefully aimed at her face with careless deliberation, the taste of frozen fructose made to simulate the sweet summer taste of strawberries would make Rachel gag and feel the immediate need to take a shower. One would assume that she got her fill of slushies while standing in the hallways at school, the skin on her face burning from the frozen shock and embarrassment of it all, and the ice-thickened liquid dripping and slipping from her forehead into her eyes and mouth. Rachel had probably actually tasted more than her share of slushies, and had certainly accidentally consumed more than any of the jocks had intentionally drank.

While that might be the case, Rachel Berry had a craving for a lemon slushy. Lemon was excellent for cleansing the palate, and removing the taste of dust, sunblock and sweat out of her mouth with a refreshing beverage seemed like a fantastic idea despite the fact slushies were her own personal Vietnam. It was a burning hot summer day in Columbus, Ohio and she was wandering around the downtown waterfront area, waiting for her fathers to be finished with a meeting before they would go shopping, to dinner and then to The Ohio Theatre as a family. She was looking forward to it with a child-like enthusiasm, loving short summer stays in larger centers that would allow her to test her ability to navigate through larger metropolises. While Columbus was no New York City it certainly wasn't Lima either and she relished testing out her sense of direction on streets she didn't grow up on, but after an hour of wandering and not getting lost once, she realized that not even Columbus held much of a challenge.

Besides, there were only so many times she could look at the replica of the Santa Maria before her eyes wanted to roll into the back of her head with boredom. Quaintness was sooo not her thing. Unless it was animal sweaters.

So she found herself searching for a corner store or shop with a slushy machine. Given the choice, she would pick (soy) ice cream, smoothies, or gelato over the mass-produced drink, but finding vegan-friendly options among those made the experience like searching for a very specific needle in a stack of needles, which was nigh on impossible and more than a little prickly. And, for some undeniable reason, slushies were always easy to locate. Probably because she unconsciously shivered in fear and tensed her shoulders in apprehension when she saw someone drinking one.

Once the drink was firmly in her hand, Rachel took a controlled sip of it as she continued her walk through the waterfront park area. People were out in full-swing, entertainers and the occasional panhandler on the corners trying to appeal to the general public. She smiled at a girl doing controlled dance moves on a patch of grass as Britney Spears played from a portable CD player, and as Rachel slipped a dollar in the girl's hat – supporting struggling artists gave her a nice karma boost for when it became her turn to spread her wings and soar, after all – she vowed to never allow herself to get so low that she had to resort to... busking. Of course, with her enormous talent, it would never be a necessity and any street performances she did would simply be for fun, as part of a concert or for one of those charming outdoor interviews New York press/talkshow hosts were so famous for.

Blinking, Rachel was transported away from her visions of singing before a group of star-struck and adoring fans in Central Park by the sound of enthusiastic clapping coming from real life and not a part of her fantasy. Intrigued, her feet were navigating in that direction, propelled by the possibility of actual talent. If there was one thing Rachel loved, it was witnessing (and critiquing) the performances of others. She was nearing the back of a crowd, enough people between her and the performers – she could at least tell it was a small group – so she couldn't immediately see them, but she knew it would be good based on the amount of people gathered.

She anticipated talent.

From the familiar opening line of _Bohemian Rhapsody,_ she knew exactly who was on the other side of that crowd. Even without the well-known song that would be forever associated with bitter feelings of betrayal and heartbreak, she'd eternally be able to identify his voice independent of seeing his face. Some nights, she still closed her eyes and heard him singing to her, soft lullabies and passionate power ballads intersecting with the stark beauty of his favourite rock lyrics luring her into sleep. Some nights, even fewer still, she heard him because she still had a recording of him on her iPod that she played rather sparingly as one of her guilty little secrets that she would never willingly admit to but would never give up.

Jesse St. James might be an ass, a douchebag, a rogue, and a scoundrel, but the man had one of the best voices she had ever heard. It was a voice meant to break hearts and stir the hormones of every woman (and man) within hearing distance, so the fact that he ended up being a heart breaking blackguard who made her give him doe-eyes filled with trust and love and lust right before he smashed an egg over her head wasn't really a shocker. It kind of served her right in a perverse sort of way for actually hoping that he'd be different just for her.

Of course, Rachel was drawn closer to him, unable to stay away from the siren's call of his song (not Queen, but the more ineffable allure of_ him_) and she wondered if she was the only one who felt as though his voice reached into their soul and drew them towards him before they crashed against rocks in a terrible shipwreck. The crowd of people surrounding him wasn't thick enough to halt her movements and soon she was in the front, staring in horror as approximately 1/5 of Vocal Adrenaline backed him up in this impromptu performance. He hadn't seen her yet, but the sight of him turned something over in her stomach, something that felt like it should be utter revulsion, but to her horror _was not_.

Rachel realized that she really, really missed him, more than she had even understood and in that moment she hated him beyond rational thought.

Jesse was pulling out all the stops, singing with even more aplomb than Freddie Mercury himself. He hadn't seen her, hadn't for one moment looked up and caught her eye and suddenly Rachel's rage was blinding, her hands shook and there was this roaring in her ears that sounded like a caged lion just begging for escape.

"_So you think you can stone me and spit in my e—"_

Splat.

Everyone froze, all eyes on Jesse as yellow liquid slipped from his curls and down his face.

With a kind of detached shock, she realized that the frozen slushy dripping from Jesse's face was from her cup. Her mind hadn't even planned it, hadn't been conscious of the dramatics of it all, but without missing a beat she opened her mouth and belted out the next line. _"So you think you can love me and leave me to diiiie." _Despite how hot she was and the fact her voice wasn't exactly warmed up, Rachel knew she had pulled off the passion of the song better than any of the girls in Vocal Adrenaline could. She knew he would recognise her voice despite the fact that sticky sweet liquid was burning in his eyes and making it impossible for him to see. Instead of continuing to sing the next lines, crooning about the fact she had to 'just get right out of here', Rachel simply turned on her heel and left, allowing the lyrics to be implicit.

It was wonderfully dramatic. Spectacularly theatrical, and oh so fitting for the musical of their lives.

The silence was broken by the sound of a singular person clapping. "Ladies and gentlemen, the undeniably talented Rachel Berry." His voice sounded far warmer and more amused than it had any right to, especially considering he was tasting her drink mingled with all the sweat on his face from performing. She doubted even lemon could cleanse the taste of her ruining his large finale. She bet it was sour on his golden tongue, but his voice didn't betray any negative feelings and she was tempted to turn around to see what his body language said. She'd been expecting him to at least bemoan the state of his hair.

Instead, she continued her exit, stage left, the empty cup clutched in her hand.

She smiled when Jesse's theatrical mask finally collapsed and he snapped in a full on diva frenzy, "for God's sake could one of you witless marionettes gets me some water before I attract wasps."

"Seems you already attracted a wasp," one of them grumbled back.

"Water! Now! And once I can actually see you Jason, I'd like you to say that to my face."

Still grinning slightly, she waited until she was around a corner, mostly hidden by a tree, before looking back towards him. The majority of the audience had dispersed now that he wasn't singing, the half-hearted and mechanical attempts from the rest of the team not enough of a lure to keep people interested. A few girls remained, probably sufficiently entertained by the sight of Jesse stripping off his shirt. Heck, she kind of hated him and was too far away to see anything, and she was kind of entertained by the sight of Jesse stripping off his shirt.

Part of her thought this might be one of her psychic moments. She never craved slushies and the one time she did was also her first meeting with Jesse since Regionals.

Rachel waited to feel guilty but it never came and she realized she actually felt satisfied about slushying him. The fact that it felt therapeutic far overshadowed the sense of hypocrisy she was experiencing for using a slushy as a weapon.

It was in that moment, the realization not fully developed, that Rachel Berry started to see that things between Jesse St. James and herself would never be the normal highs and lows of happiness and pity-parties. There would always be moments of over dramatics whenever they met, where the two of them played the scene and vied for the spotlight, attempting to influence the audience's sympathies. Despite her current heartbreak from his betrayal, she was euphoric at the memory of the slushy splattering across his face, cutting off his performance suddenly and she continued to smile as she moved towards the rendezvous location with her dads.

Rachel wasn't actively anticipating her next encounter with the legendary Jesse St. James, but part of her knew it would be good and her performance would be flawless.

x.x.x.x.x.

Rachel wasn't sure if it was based on years of experience or some kind of innate mathematical talent, but she could always tell the acoustic sweet spot of a theatre at a glance, her eyes taking in the speaker locations, the shape of the room, and the texture of the walls. Unerringly, she made her way over to a row of seats a little beyond the middle of the theatre and to the right and staked out three seats for herself and her dads. Not many people were in the theatre yet, and Rachel imagined that not many people would be tonight. A new children's movie was playing at the movie theatres at the mall, there was a community production of Chicago in its opening week down the street, and, frankly, a revival of the Wizard of Oz wouldn't appeal to many people on a Tuesday night.

She was just settling in, ensuring that her skirt was tucked safely between her thighs and the scratchy material of the seats, when she noticed the silhouette of a person standing next to her. She didn't think her dads had time to complete their pre-show ritual of using the bathroom and getting fresh popcorn, but she looked up expectantly anyway, ready to accept her bag of candy. Rachel knew something was wrong when she noted the dark coloured jeans, her eyes spanning higher to find Jesse standing next to her with a large drink in his hand.

Automatically she flinched away, bringing her arm up to shield her face.

He laughed merrily without the slightest hint of irony, heavily sitting in the seat next to her. "Don't worry," he said with obvious amusement, taking an obnoxiously loud sip of his drink. "I'm not here for revenge."

"Revenge!" she sputtered, eying him wearily and trying to pull off a face of indignation despite the fact that part of her thought he was probably well in his rights to try to get vengeance on her for the slushy. It was difficult to remind herself of her own moral high ground now, in the face of a large soda in the hands of the boy who didn't think anything of breaking a few eggs to make his point.

He nodded with a smirk. "If anyone knows how difficult it is to get fructose out of pores, it's you. We both know how integral a clear and perfect showface is. I'd say I'd be well within my rights to revenge if I wanted it, especially if my complexion reacts adversely to the slushy facial."

"Please," she scoffed. "You spend more every month on beauty products than I do. I'm sure your designer creams are more than capable of handling a $3 drink."

He shuddered dramatically. "My delicate skin isn't used to slumming it. Jujube?" he asked, opening the bag and offering one to her as if, to him, this was simply a casual conversation between friends.

Rachel snubbed him and his candy, staring straight at the theatre screen despite the fact the movie wasn't playing yet. "My dads will buy me some at the concession stand. I won't take your blood candy."

Jesse snorted. "Suit yourself," he responded, tucking the bag into the cupholder between them and stretching his long legs out in front of him.

"Don't get too comfortable," she glared, willing him to leave just with the force of her animosity towards him. The problem, of course, was that she had too much to say to him to remain silent and ignore him. She had so much to say that now didn't seem the time or the place. When they had this conversation that was hovering unspoken between them, it would be full of dramatics, wild arm movements, yelling on her end, hopefully sobbing on his, and it would be an epic and unstoppable clash of wills by two people who looked to musical theatre as inspiration on how to carry out day to day life. There could be _singing_. The Wizard of Oz was going to start in about 15 minutes; they wouldn't even make it through the first act with that amount of time, and Rachel had some serious dramatic goals that demanded to be met in this storyboard. "You should leave before my dads get here. They'll be less hospitable to you than I am."

He took a candy, grinning at her as he held it between his teeth. "I'm sure I'm persona non grata to all of the Berrys," he agreed.

"You hate jububes," she noted quietly, watching him intently from the corner of her eye. She never turned to face him, but she angled her head in such a way that he was visible despite her intent to snub him. Her stomach jumped at the way he gently sucked it into his mouth and she hated how she reacted to him, her body understanding his overtures despite the fact she didn't rationally know why.

"I don't hate them," he corrected her. "I just think that if I'm going to consume candy, putting my sleek and sexy physique in jeopardy, there are better tasting options."

"I disagree. Jujubes are classic for a reason," she sniffed, turning up her nose at him with a superior scowl. She glanced behind her, willing her dads to come in and interrupt this twilight zone where Jesse St. James and Rachel Berry were having a semi-rational conversation. "How did you find me?" she questioned, trying not to sound curious.

He shrugged as if the answer was obvious. "You and your dads always see a show when you're in the city. I know how you feel about community theatre massacring your favourite musicals, and given the choice you'll always choose the Wizard of Oz and Miss Judy Garland over lesser filmography. It wasn't difficult to figure out."

She hated how smug and sure he was of her but she couldn't exactly argue his point. He was right and it bothered her how well he seemingly knew her. It made his betrayal all the more upsetting and always had. He knew her habits and her heart, and he knew just how to break her.

"I saw the show the other night. After _Wicked_," he leaned towards her conspiratorially, "Dorothy is practically villainesque."

She snorted. Coming from him that was rich. "Well?" she asked pithily, cutting through all the bull. "Are you here to apologize?"

Jesse made a puzzled hum that was entirely fake. "Apologize for what?"

"_Apologize for what_?" she echoed in disbelief, hands balling into tiny fists. She wasn't sure why he, and he alone, seemed to be able to draw this type of reaction from her, but she was almost convinced he was baiting her on purpose. She refused to look at him, the words becoming a mantra in her head. Don't look at him. Don't look at him. Don't give him what he wants.

"Come on Rach," he smirked. "Eggs. Slushies. I think we're even now."

"In what way are they even remotely the same?"

He shrugged. "You're probably right."

"Then why are you here if not to apologize or throw your soda in my face?"

He slurped again with a knowing grin as her eye twitched at the sound. "We were asked to reprise our Nationals performance."

"In this theatre?" she asked incredulously, hating her luck. Really, what had she done to deserve this? She was a nice person – for the most part. She gave money to street performers, tried to be honest as often as possible – never mind that lying tended to have her rambling nervously until she either accidentally or deliberately blurted out the exact thing she was supposed to keep a secret – and while she was ambitious and brutally honest sometimes, she wasn't deliberately cruel for the most part. Somehow, though, karma didn't seem to be on her side. "_Tonight?" _she asked in horror, glancing around for the rest of Vocal Adrenaline.

"Of course not! Why would you think that? For one, there's not nearly enough fanfare. Believe me, if Vocal Adrenaline was performing this place would be packed. For another, that stage is far too small to contain a talent like mine. Silly Rachel. I just meant we were in town for the performance."

"That wasn't what I—"

He cut her off. "I think you'd benefit from seeing a four time National championship performance. Give you something to aspire to. You're so used to being around underperforming bonobos that your definition of talent has gotten skewed."

"I want to know why you're here, in this building, at this very second," she intersected quickly when he paused either to take a breath or for effect. She assumed it was for effect since she'd heard him say much longer speeches than that without needing air.

"I'd offer you tickets for you and your family but we performed last night. Maybe if your team ever even makes it to Nationals, you'll get invited to perform here too."

"Jesse!" Rachel practically shrieked with exasperation, turning towards him with an angry glare at the fact he kept ignoring her question. He was smirking at her, appearing smug and genuinely pleased with himself.

He leaned over and pressed his lips against hers, stopping the barrage of words before they spewed forth.

He tasted like orange soda and his favourite lip balm along with that indescribable undercurrent of Jesse that she had always enjoyed so much. Her mouth had parted in anticipation to his kiss, automatically and out of habit she tried to rationalize, but she knew the truth as much as she wished to deny it.

No matter how angry or hurt she was by his actions and no matter how much she hated him, Jesse's kisses would always be something she anticipated eagerly.

Rachel allowed herself three seconds to savour his mouth on hers, the sensation of her bottom lip between his and the way his hand instinctively came up to cup her jaw and tilt her head for better access, before she wrenched her face away, turning back towards the front of the theatre again. Her heart was beating rapidly and a traitorous part of her wanted to lean back in and demand more from him. The more prevalently part was disgusted with herself for allowing him those three seconds. "Don't touch me. I hate you," she breathed heavily.

"Good, there's hope then. 'The opposite of love is not hate; it's indifference,'" he quoted. "Rachel, I'd rather your hate. It means you care," he summed smugly.

"Heaven has no rage, like love to hatred turned, nor Hell a fury, like a woman scorned," she snapped back at him. "You deserve all of it for what you put me through. You, Jesse St. James are a huge jerk."

"I know," he sighed dramatically. "Sometimes even I want to punch myself in the eye."

She snorted. "As if you'd self-inflict damage to your pretty face."

"It's true. I'm a vain bastard," he agreed, glancing behind him towards the entrance of the theatre. His hand rested briefly on her knee, just the slightest of touches to show his focus was entirely on her and what he said was genuine. "I'll see you on Broadway, Rachel Barbra Berry, but hopefully we'll meet before that."

Of course, Jesse was a mastermind at faking physical and emotional cues so Rachel didn't even consider taking him seriously, but there was really no purpose behind this lie, behind this manipulation, that she could see. At least for him. Personally, she took it almost as a dare.

He let go of her knee and stood, leaving her sitting there warring against the need to call him back and demand an apology for the egging, to ask him exactly what he meant and why he sought her out. None of his actions seemed rational to her and all it did was serve as a reminder to her of how fantastic Jesse had been during the short period when things had been good between them.

She really wished she could understand him sometimes. Why did he have to come back into her life so carelessly just to stir everything up with his charm and wit and stupidly perfect hair?

"They don't sell jujubes anymore," her daddy said apologetically, handing her a bag of gummy bears. His presence caused her to jump in surprise. She'd forgotten where she was for a moment. Numbly, she took the bag of gummy bears and stared at it and her eyes glancing at the open bag Jesse left in the cup holder, wondering how he had known and bewildered about everything. He confused her so much, especially when he did things that didn't fit in with how she expected him to act or even how normal people acted.

And why did it somehow seem like the apology she had been waiting for?

x.x.x.x.

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><p>AN: We all really need something like this right now, don't we? I can't stop writing them right now, despite having commitments to my TBBT stories.

A/N II: I'm terrible with music or anything related. It is not my thing, which makes writing Glee fanfics a huge irony in my life. Apologies if I ever mix up terminology occasionally or insult your favourite artist. It's not intentional (unless your favourite artist is Justin Bieber. Then I probably meant it).


	2. Chapter 2

**Tell You Time and Time Again**

_Chapter 2: Will Parker is as stupid with money as he is with love. Jesse St. James is just stupid._

x.x.x.x.x.x.

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><p>Jesse was a difficult creature to shake, even when he wasn't there in person, and she found out the hard way. Rachel spent the rest of her vacation in Columbus looking over her shoulder, almost sure she'd catch a glimpse of his curly hair sticking out from behind a bush or hear snatches of his voice travelling through the crowd. She never did, though her paranoia had her snapping her neck to the side to stare at random strangers more often than she was comfortable with. Her stomach would jump in anticipation, and once she determined that it wasn't him, she'd always berate herself for feeling hopeful.<p>

She only wanted to finally have that confrontation with him, she decided, knowing that wasn't entirely the truth.

Once home in Lima the trend continued, but not as drastically. She only turned if someone really looked like him with a combination of his dark clothes and curly hair. Twice during the summer the figure would wink outrageously or give her a small salute of recognition, never venturing to make a connection. Once school started and summer merged into autumn, she still occasionally thought she saw him. It never was him, of course, because he was as far away from Lima as possibly while still staying in the USA and pursuing his dream. Rachel thought that might be one of the smartest things he'd ever done.

If she was Jesse St. James she'd stay in California and work on her career instead of coming back to Ohio, and she had family tethering her there, connections he never claimed to have. Without anyone to return for, he would be free to star in Christmas productions at UCLA or in Los Angeles itself, and a part of her knew that once he let go of Ohio he was gone for good. Despite how easy it would be to put his name into a search engine to see if it showed up in any Los Angeles playbills, she never did. Rachel told herself she couldn't be bothered, that she didn't care, but part of her enjoyed the fantasy that he was doing well. If Jesse could make it in the city where all talented people flocked with the hopes of being _someone_, then Rachel knew she could do the same.

("What are the chances that we'll both make it," she had asked him once, curled at his side on her bed as they listened to The Best of Sondheim. Her hand was gently resting on his diaphragm, internalizing the gentle rhythm of his breathing and feeling the vibrations as he softly sang along to the refrain of 'Johanna'. "We're both aware of the actual statistics of failure."

"High," he mused. "The fact that we are ridiculously attractive is seconded only by the fact we're ridiculously talented. I believe in myself and I believe in you. Listen carefully, I'm about to share with you the secret of gaining fame. _You_ are the only thing that could possibly hold you back. If you believe you will be successful, Rachel, so will other people. If you spend too much time worrying about failure, they'll see that too and believe me when I say casting directors won't take a chance on someone who could fail."

"I'm not sure that's the secret to success," she mused. "It seems too simple."

"That's because it is simple," he responded confidently.)

So Rachel was kind of invested in the idea that he was somewhere making it and part of her was scared that he wasn't. She never actually pined for him, too busy being the perfect girlfriend to Finn and then too distracted by her attempts to get Finn back to really think about Jesse, but there were singular moments in time when she'd take a pause and something would make her think of him. Rachel knew that any day now Jesse St. James would be discovered walking around on the streets of Hollywood and some casting director would be attracted to his crazy-coiffed hair like a magpie to shiny things. She was just waiting for the day when she'd be standing in line at the grocery store with her soy ice cream only to find him on the front cover of USWeekly because he was 'dating' Miley Cyrus or something (this happens during her freshman year at university and by that point it's a relief to know he's labelled as a hot and upcoming single instead of attached to one of the dubiously talented young singers currently on the charts. She buys the magazine and gets a good laugh from the list of reasons why he's the perfect boyfriend).

She didn't expect to run into him in Claremore, Oklahoma (_Oklahoma!)_ Christmas vacation of her junior year. She didn't expect to run into anyone in Claremore, Oklahoma, yet alone Jesse St. James. Her daddy was visiting an elderly aunt in Tulsa almost two decades after harsh words were exchanged between the two of them when he came out as being gay. Bridges like that didn't mend overnight, but they were both making an effort, which was more than a lot of either of her dads' families attempted. Rachel didn't resent her daddy for wanting that, but she would much rather be spending the precious week all three of them had off school and work on one of their annual trips to New York City, Hawaii, or London. Oklahoma wasn't exactly the epicentre of the Arts or enlightenment, despite the fact _Oklahoma!_ had one of the most inspired dream-ballet sequences in the history of Broadway.

When her dad, growing as tired of deathbed vigils as Rachel was, suggested they take a day to travel to Claremore to see the location where the musical was based, Rachel jumped at the chance. Her dad wanted to do some research for the vaudeville course he taught at OSU, Lima Campus, claiming that so called amateur historians never provided accurate information without multiple phone calls, hounding, and extortion.

Rachel had no interest in seeing the Will Rogers Memorial Museum but there was only so much bad hospital coffee and staring at hotel room walls she could take.

The moment they arrived, Leroy wandered off towards the interior of the museum in search of whatever research he needed to do, which Rachel suspected was just a convenient excuse he would never admit to. Rachel went in the opposite direction, mostly to get a break from her dad. It was a dreary day, looking like it would rain at any moment and too warm for the snow she left behind in Ohio. The weather suited her mood, already dampened by her failed attempts to win Finn back and the last minute cancellation of their trip to Hawaii.

Her heart immediately jumped into her throat when she saw him staring at the Will Rogers Memorial looking thoughtful and more than a little bored. It wasn't possible that he was in pretty much the middle of nowhere, USA, at the same time she was, and she was almost convinced that he was a mirage brought on by her dad's dedication to singing both tenor and countertenor roles, neither in key, and questionable road-side diner iced tea.

"I should have known that salad wasn't organic," she muttered to herself with a frown, stepping forward and almost expecting him to shimmer out of existence or something equally as disturbing. He didn't. If anything, he looked even more solid and real in his black leather jacket and jeans. "I doubt you have to wait until you're dead," she informed him, understanding that he was wondering how to get his own memorial. She knew him because it would be what she'd be thinking right now if he wasn't between her and the idea of memorialized glory. She hid a weak smile as he turned and gaped at her, so shocked he allowed her to continue with her greeting without saying a word. "I hear Carmel is considering adding you to their statue of the shark eating the seal pup. You should contact them and let them know that you want to be eight feet tall and spearing the great white. Of course I don't condone the practice of shark spearing, but it's a terrible statue to begin with and you're just the type of villain who would kill an endangered species to become top of the food chain."

Jesse reached out a hand and poked her.

"What are you doing here, Jesse?" she asked, slapping his hand away as he attempted to prod her again. Her smile had disappeared along with her amusement at the fact she had actually managed to surprise him. She was back to feeling that simmering sensation of animosity and rage ready to snap forth and demand an explanation now that she was two for two on failed relationships (three if she counted Noah, which she didn't).

"I'm here filming an on-location Christmas version of _Oklahoma!"_ he said without his usual pomp. "What are_ you_ doing here? You should be in London watching _Deathtrap_ or Malibu catching a few rays."

"Hawaii. Daddy's aunt is dying and wants to make amends so we're here instead."

"Oh," he said. "That's a shame."

She nodded, not sure if he was talking about the loss of Hawaii or the loss of a relative. Considering how heartless he was, she assumed he meant Hawaii, but then Jesse had always been good at knowing the right words to say despite the fact she not-so-secretly suspected he was a sociopath. "Curly McLain?" she asked to fill the silence, taking a breath to prepare herself for the ultimate and final showdown between them as she sifted through the various accusations she could lead with.

"Actually no."

She grinned wryly, not surprised that he'd been cast as a villain. "I always did see you as more of a Jud Fry."

"I'm not him either. The director thought my talents were better suited to playing Will Parker." He ran his hand through his hair, shifting his stance so he wouldn't have to look at her. His gaze landed back on the statue and Rachel was beginning to see that he wasn't the same boy he'd been last year. He'd lost some of his confidence, and an undercurrent of fear shifted through her.

That finally gave her reason to pause and take stock. Lines like 'You bastard, you broke my heart' and 'One day when I'm famous and you're still struggling I'll give an in-depth interview on what a terrible person you are and have you blacklisted from every possible career-making venue so that you're stuck singing Happy Birthday to children at Chuck-E-Cheese' slipped from her mind.

Jesse playing the loving fool? "Your director is obviously insane."

"It's true. He's setting the movie right after the Oklahoma City Bombing. Jud's on the run from the police and Laurey is a beauty pageant contestant." He paused for effect. "Which makes sense since the actress is last year's Miss Oklahoma. The dream ballet is set to _Silent Night."_

"That sounds terrible," she expressed, mouth agape. Her aghast was palpable and honest.

"I know. I fully suspect that my performance will be the only redeemable part of the entire movie. That just means that I will shine all the brighter in comparison." The words were right, and so typically Jesse, so full of self-confidence and narcissistic tendencies that Rachel almost didn't notice that the tone was wrong.

"I'll buy it when it goes straight to DVD," Rachel promised with a smile.

Jesse groaned. "The director is also a friend of one of my professors at UCLA and I was hand-picked for the role. It's a huge honour." He sounded doubtful, which told her more than anything else he said what a huge disaster this movie probably was going to be. It hit her all at once that Jesse was putting on a facade, and not even a very good one. Either his acting had gotten worse, which she sincerely doubted, or he wanted her to find him out without ever speaking the words to her himself.

"Good for you," she told him firmly. "You must have worked really hard. I doubt many freshmen are handed roles in movies unless they've really earned it."

He smiled for the first time since she approached him, the corner of his mouth curving up just the slightest. "I did work hard," he told her. "I am working hard. Sometimes I just need a reminder that I still have three years left of college and I need to have patience."

Rachel nodded. Patience was never one of his virtues. Allowing scenes to act out, on the other hand, was something he was particularly good at. She realized as he pulled her back to sit on one of the benches surrounding the monument that she had just reassured Jesse about something that was bothering him instead of yelling at him about her broken heart. She still had a script where she demanded an apology from him and over the last year she had fine-tuned it into a cutting monologue. Now didn't seem the time and in front of a tomb didn't seem like the place and she found herself putting it off.

Suddenly, the locale made sense to her. Only Jesse would visit a memorial statue a few feet away from the tomb of someone with a modicum of fame to mourn the loss of his career in a highly dramatic but also highly personal and lonely fashion. Only Jesse, and possibly herself. "This is just the beginning, Jesse," she reassured him. "In five years when you're sitting across from Ellen or doing an interview for Broadway Magazine, it will be up to you whether you even mention this movie existed."

"I can now create myself an IMDB page and only after one term at UCLA," he mused with a sudden smirk, his shoulders straightening almost indiscernibly. "Give me another term and I'll probably be on Entertainment Tonight."

"That's what I like to hear," she responded automatically and then fell into silence.

Neither spoke, understanding that the only things left to say would break her sympathetic mood. Rachel searched for something, anything, that would keep her in the role of confidante, something she found to be surprisingly powerful considering Jesse's usual level of self-confidence. "Out of everyone I know, I would still bet on you," she finally settled on.

"I'm a sure bet," he told her, smirk now entirely cocky. Rachel searched his stance for any remnants of his previous mood, but either he was hiding it now or she had just managed to talk him out of a funk. It seemed ironic to her that in her mind he was one of her greatest foes, but she hadn't hesitated to reassure him when he seemed strangely vulnerable. Rachel wasn't sure she entirely understood: Jesse didn't get into moods, Jesse never lost sight of the importance of his career. It was the only thing about him in the_ afterwards_ that she could say with absolute surety and that she could actually respect. She felt like it was a possibility she'd been played, but more likely she thought the entire situation was incredibly extraordinary. Her mind couldn't help but go off on tangents of the possibilities of what might have happened if she hadn't shown up. He might have failed at becoming Jesse St. James. He might have allowed his one movie flop to define his entire career. He might have actually needed the reassurance that only Rachel could give him, and wasn't it serendipitous that she was actually there for him?

More than likely he would have snapped out of the mood after a Red Bull and a bag of Cheetos, a secret love of his he'd vehemently deny to his grave.

A big drop of rain landed on her nose and she looked to the sky as she impatiently whisked the water away.

"Well, it's been weird, Rach. Let's not do this again, especially in podunk little towns like this. The way you stalk me was cute at first, but now it makes me uncomfortable."

She gaped at him. "I'm not stalking you!"

"Uh huh. Hiram is in town to visit a dying aunt? That's not very clever or original, but I guess you always did have a thing for the classics."

"What?" she shrieked. That blinding fury was back, the monologue not forgotten.

"To be honest I thought you hated me so I'm a little surprised that you'd make the trip."

"I do hate you," she hissed, fingernails digging into the tender flesh of her palms.

Jesse chuckled, that infernal smirk on his lips as he patted her cheek softly, ignoring the obvious way she was glaring at him. "Aw sweetie," he said with just a hint of irony. "I love you too."

She made a strangled noise, unable to actually speak through her rage and incredulousness at his gall. Then he laughed, head thrown back in pleasure and the resonance tickled through her blood stream, the sound almost as beautiful as his singing voice. She was still frowning at him, but now her mouth was closed as she watched him.

Jesse shot her a look that was pure fondness, the same expression she had seen on his face so many times before. It couldn't be real, she'd convinced herself that it was just good acting, but it felt like truth. He leaned towards her and pressed his lips against the side of her head. It was almost raining in earnest now, both of them already slightly damp and Rachel was not looking forward to the pervading chill that would settle if she had to remain in these clothes until she and her dad got back to Tulsa. "I was just joking," he said, breath exhaling in warm puffs against her hair. "You can stalk me whenever you want."

"You're terrible," she muttered, but oh god, she was smiling. She honestly hated him a little for being able to do that to her.

"I'm fantastic and you know it," he said with a wink, standing and taking a step away from her.

Rachel wasn't sure what made her do it. Maybe it was the need for the tiniest bit of honesty between them, for him to understand everything he had bypassed with his blasé and cruel method of dumping her. Technically, they had never broken up. The words had never been said, though of course it was understood. Not even a blind, deaf fool could mistake the intent.

But she was surprised to find she'd been shaken by the hints of self-doubt in his stance earlier, far more than she let on.

"Jess," she said desperately, grabbing his wrist. "You've got to succeed." She could feel her throat closing with emotions and she blinked as she looked away, unable and unwilling to allow him to see. "If you don't... if you don't..." she let it hang, knowing he would understand. If you don't succeed, it will shake my faith in myself and my own ability to succeed. If you don't succeed, all your hard work, all your sacrifices and the pain will be for naught. If you don't succeed and you were telling the truth that day in the parking lot...

"I know," he said simply, trailing his fingers across the back of her hand before he left.

* * *

><p>AN: I almost wanted to put "WARNING: half this chapter is boring" at the beginning, but I was sure that would scare people away. I was given very good advice to get rid of it, but there are lines that don't seem like much now, but mean something to Rachel's future development, so... put up with the boring, ok?

Next Chapter - Summer between Rachel's junior and senior year.


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